The Twin Statues of Paris
by ElizabethScaffie
Summary: There is a legend that a demon is haunting Notre-Dame, that you can hear him at night if you are unlucky enough. It's probably just a rumour to attract even more tourists, but..what if the legend is true? And what if, equally lonely but less noisy, someone else is in the same position on the other side of the city? Follow our German and Spanish tourists in a mysterious Paris...
1. Prologue

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

There once lived a man whose sole purpose and love in life was sculpting.

His statues were so extraordinary, so full of beauty that if it hadn't been for their blank eyes and their immobility, anyone would have been able to believe they were alive. The man sculpted day and night, first hitting the stones with harsh force, but as he worked his way around the form that was trapped within, the blows got progressively less fierce and gentler, until he levelled the new forms with pumice-stone and caressed them with little wads of hay.

The man could sculpt anything, let it be people, animals, mythological creatures or landscapes, busts, columns or altars; he could sculpt high reliefs as well as low reliefs, static statues that were meant to be seen only from right in front of them, statues that were meant to be disproportioned because they had to be seen from below, statues around which you had to walk to appreciate all the details.

However above all, he loved creating human beings that had to be seen from all angles: especially burly men and beautiful ladies. People were amazed at how he could recreate the impression of such soft skin and tough flesh in marble: the burly man would have rough angled features, contrasting with his rippling muscles; the woman would have the most delicate of faces and the softest of marble skins, in some places lightly covered by light marmoreal veils. Medusa herself wouldn't have been able to create more realistic stone statues with her glare.

Of course, the man's fame reached far and wide, and he received commissions from faraway places. People travelled weeks, even months to have a chance to talk to the great sculptor, and gave great sums of money in exchange for his skills. For these kinds of people the man especially sculpted a lot of religious figures: many saints, holy Mary with sweet eyes and hands, little Jesus sitting in her lap, and even _more_ saints, other than many angels and a few devils or demons.

This man sometimes told his friends, while dining and feasting as they did almost every day, that the stone spoke to him. It _whispered_ to him, and he could see to whom the voice belonged to, trapped inside the block. He simply took the stone in excess away, he freed them. His friends would laugh and tell him to stop saying this nonsense, and drink more instead.

Nonetheless, the man had everything a man could possibly desire: money, wealth, fame, friends and as many women as he could wish for, and as many stones to sculpt as he wanted . There was only one thing he missed: a son, and, especially as he got older, grandchildren to spoil.

That is, until one day, he picked up the chisel and hammer like he always did, and turned to face the newly arrived block of marble. He looked it over with his dark brown eyes, the big white block almost shining in the middle of his workshop. It was the finest of marbles, directly from Carrara, and his favourite. Sure, he could work with almost any material, going from rough stone to metals like bronze and gold, but Carrara's marble would always remain his favourite.

He put both tools he had picked up earlier in one of his hands, and he gently brushed the cold surface with his rough fingers, then leaning his palm onto it. This block... he had received a commission, this block had to be transformed into the image of Moses. He had already ideas in his mind, of the majestic figure sitting in some sort of throne, stroking his long flowing beard with a pensive look in his eyes...

However, that was not what the stone told him.

Strangely enough, no matter how much he concentrated, he couldn't find Moses's form in this block. This was most bizarre, this had never happened. The man frowned, puzzled: Moses simply wasn't _there_.

The stone told him something different entirely. Not one, but two figures had to emerge from the marble. Two young boys.

The sculptor blinked. Two boys, twins in fact, that would be the age of his grandchildren if he had ever had a son. That was what the stone whispered to him, and the sculptor roughly summoned his hand back from the marble's surface. His fist tightened, and then he threw the hammer from his left hand to his right, now brandishing a tool in each fist. A smile curled his lips upwards: he was going to free those two boys from the white marble.

* * *

The man worked for days, weeks, without getting distracted with anything else. Not even his best friend could pry him away from the cold stone. The tall friend came from far away, from over the Alps, where the _Sacrum Imperium Romanum Nationis Germanicae_, or Holy Roman Empire of the Germanc Nation, thrived. The friend ruffled the sculptor's hair, brushing off the abundant white marble dust, revealing dark brown curls, and complained about his obsession with the statues. Also, wasn't he supposed to be working on a statue of Moses?

The sculptor laughed and kindly pushed his friend away, telling he had never been so eager and excited with a work of his. That was saying something. Moses could wait, a couple of weeks wouldn't hurt him.

The friend sighed, knowing that there was no possibility of convincing the sculptor to leave his house until he had finished this work. Before leaving he glanced inside, in the semi-darkness of the dusk he could glimpse two roughly chiselled shapes in the marble, debris and dust covering the ground all around them in a wide circle.

* * *

The master sculptor wiped his sweaty forehead, exhaling deeply.

They were done.

His grandchildren, or how he had imagined them to be, were done.

The statues were twins, and shared the same basement. What distinguished them however was their personality. Yes, their personality, because anyone could see that the twins each had one, and almost complete opposites of each other. While the one to his right had a compassionate face, innocent, gentle and pure, the other to his left was a bit different, as his slightly downcast brows almost formed a small frown, completed by a more cunning air. However, there was an aspect that both shared: the general mischief hovering over their features and in their eyes.

This general image of their personalities had brought the sculptor to slowly change their human forms while sculpting them. In fact, he probably had been affected too much by the religious people and priests continuously asking him to make angels and demons, that... he had transformed each of the twins into one. Once he had understood _that_, he had poured his soul into the making of two angels, his angelic grandchildren, but... the slightly grumpier one just didn't seem to let him do that, the stone complained and groaned every time he hit it to create the feathery wings. So he had relented to its will, and had changed his plans. The stone never complained again after that.

So there he stood, and the last wad of hay fell through his slackened fingers, and into the white dust that constantly covered his workshop.

There they were. His beautiful grandchildren, the most beautiful statues he had ever created, statues in which he had poured his very soul and essence like never before. His prankster gentle angel and his prankster moody demon.

He would never let anyone see them, except for maybe his best friend. He also knew they would never be real, but he loved them as if they were nonetheless.

He closed his eyes, the exhaustion of the work finally taking its toll on him. The last thought he had as he almost literally passed out on his bed was that he needed to clean his workshop out a bit, and more importantly buy another marble block for Moses.

* * *

"It was a warm early summer night of 1507 in the city of _Fiorenza_, when the master sculptor Romulus Vargas completed one of his most famous works, 'The Twins', when he was barely 32 years old. The statue he had been commissioned earlier, 'Moses', was not begun until 1512 and was completed in 1513."  
"Why?"  
"Because Romulus was commissioned to paint a beautiful chapel in Rome by the pope himself, and it took him four years to complete it."  
"...Paint? But he was a sculptor!"  
"Very good observation. Yes, he was a skilful sculptor, however he was a very good painter as well. It's just that he regarded sculpture as the most sublime art, that's why even in his paintings his figures almost look as solid as statues."  
"...So, what happened to the statue of the twins?"

"Sadly, it was lost. Art historians affirm that in the sculptor's will, they had to be buried with him. However, after his death in 1564, they were transported to Germany – the Holy Roman Empire at that time – but after that, it vanished. Pessimists say that they were destroyed, optimists still believe they are hidden somewhere in the lands of Germany, others simply come to terms with the fact that they simply vanished."  
"...Mister guide, how does the legend continue?"

"Ah, that's a very interesting question. Indeed, there was a legend shrouding these statues. You see, Romulus loved these statues so much that he never separated from them, no matter what."  
"Kind of like what Leonardo did with the Mona Lisa?"  
"Almost. You know how big the Mona Lisa is? About this small. Romulus had it much more difficult, try carrying around a couple of full-sized statues, all the way up and down from Italy, because Romulus travelled a lot too. In any case, what I was saying is, he loved these statues so much, that they said he had literally infused them with love. This love, so the legend says, was able to bring the statues to life! But this legend has deeper roots, back to – hear this – Ovid and his _Metamorphoses_. Does anyone know the legend of Pygmalion...?"

* * *

**_Medusa : _**_Mythological monster, described to have an ugly female face and venomous living snakes instead of hair: gazing directly into her eyes would turn the onlooker into stone._

**_Marble of Carrara : _**_ It's a type of white (or blue-grey) marble__ of high quality, popular for use in sculpture and building decor. It is quarried at the city of Carrara, the northernmost tip of modern-day Tuscany, Italy. Many sculptures of the Renaissance, such as Michelangelo's David (1501–04), were carved from Carrara marble: for Michelangelo at least, Carrara marble was valued above all other stone._

**_Sacrum Imperium Romanum Nationis Germanicae : _**_(Latin) The Holy Roman Empire of the Germanic Nation._

_**Fiorenza : **(Medieval Italian) Florence_

_**Romulus Vargas : **I basically took the life of Michelangelo Buonarroti, genius sculptor of the Renaissance, and substituted Romulus's name in it, as well as his character, because Romulus's character and Michelangelo's couldn't be more different. In any case, all the dates that appear are accurate for Michelangelo's life, like his birthdate (6th of March 1475), the painting of the Sistine Chapel (1508-1512), the sculpture of Moses (1512-1513), and his death (18th February 1564). Obviously, the date of 'The Twins' was totally made up by me.  
_

**_Pygmalion : _**___Pygmalion_ is most familiar from Ovid's narrative poem Metamorphoses, in which Pygmalion was a sculptor who fell in love with the statue of a woman he had carved out of ivory. He had called her 'Galatea'. According to Ovid, he was "not interested in women", but his statue was so fair and realistic that he fell in love with it. In time, Aphrodite's festival day came, and Pygmalion made offerings at the altar of Aphrodite. There he quietly wished for a bride who would be "the living likeness of my ivory girl". When he returned home, he kissed his ivory statue, and found that its lips felt warm. He kissed it again, and found that the ivory had lost its hardness. Aphrodite had granted Pygmalion's wish. Pygmalion married the ivory sculpture changed to a woman under Aphrodite's blessing. In Ovid's narrative, they had a son, Paphos, from whom the city's name is derived. In some versions, they also had a daughter, Metharme.

* * *

**Ugh, sorry for the long notes.**

**Hey there everybody! I AM BACK.**

**Kind of. In any case, I survived my exams, yohoo!**

**So, the 'Statue story' won the poll, with a whopping 62% advantage on the other 3 stories! Thanks to all the unique 107 voters, 62 of which voted for this story. Which was actually not the one I actually wanted to write, but oh well! I hope you will like it.**

**First things first, I'm not planning to make it as long as my other stories. I plan on stopping around the 20th chapter this time, or at least that is my intention, hahah. And after that, you'll get another poll, +insert evil laugh here please***

**Also, since the title is obviously 'The twin statues of PARIS', this will take place in the modern-day city of Paris. Which I do not know. I hate not knowing the things I write about, so I already know I'll have to research like an idiot and harass my French neighbour when he comes back from his holidays ^^**

**Last but not least, I have no idea how fast I will update this. Like, no idea at all. No plan. Nothing. It's almost embarassing that I already put up this prologue... So keep that in mind, until further notice. The cause of this 'I don't have any idea when I will update' is because I will move this August, I will leave Italy to study university in the rainy Netherlands. So before that time I will be crazily busy doing all sorts of stuff ._."**

**But still! You know that I love you all, that I love writing stories, that I always try my best to get stuff up whenever I can, and that I never leave a story unfinished. After that is said and done, I'm off! See you all next chapter, whenever it is! **

**Ciao ciao!**


	2. First Impressions

**Please sit back, und ENJOY!**

* * *

**1623**

A small red door creaked open, revealing the silhouette of a man. The door closed, and the shadow plunged among other shadows.

The shadow lit a small oil lamp with trembling hands, before raising it up high. He didn't like this silence, even if a cathedral was supposed to be silent at night. It was quiet. Much too quiet for his tastes.

His soft shuffled steps echoed down the central nave, the delicate yellow light glinting off the almost polished floor. He knew he had heard noises at night, especially around the darkest hours of the night. He had glanced at the big clock in the abbey earlier, and he knew it was well after three in the morning.

One of his long sleeves caught in a non-lit candleholder, and made it rattle. The sheer noise of it scared him out of his wits, and he let out a small gasp. He stabilized the candelabrum, and exhaled.

He looked up at the high ceiling of the cathedral, and then at the marvellous stained-glass windows. During the day they would be full of life in colour, but now they were as black as the moonless night outside, and they just resembled a lot of gaping mouths ready to swallow him. He gulped.

"I shouldn't be here." He whispered to himself. Exactly, he shouldn't be here, this was the hour of demons and witches and Lord knew what else, why was he even heeding that paranoia of his, that his beloved cathedral was haunted, he should just go back with his brothers to the abbey, and catch some sleep before the _Laude_ and the _Prima_...

"_Damn right you shouldn't be here_."

A sudden disgruntled voice broke the silence, making the friar jump and drop the lamp, which clanged loudly on the floor and rolled a few metres away from him, before going out.

He was plunged in darkness again, but he found the nearest column and pressed his shoulders against the cool marmoreal surface of it. The voice didn't really have a clear origin, because it echoed in the ample space, but he knew there was something there.

"Who art thou, what art thee doing in the house of the Lord?" He asked the presence, his voice barely more than a whisper. He did not need to talk louder, the cathedral brought his voice everywhere.

The unknown voice did not reply, but the friar heard a thud of something hitting wood, and then a curse. He closed his eyes, barely tolerating the disembodied presence's swearing in the cathedral. But he knew where the thud had come from, it had been somewhere in the front of the nave. With trembling legs and with his mind asking him why in the Heavens he was doing this, he moved towards the source of the sound.

"_For the first and the last time, I'll ask you nicely. Get out._" The voice said, echoing from somewhere above his head. Instinctively, his face turned upwards, but of course he could not see anything. A shiver ran down his spine, as he wondered why it had come from above. He now didn't have any doubt. He wasn't dealing with a person. His hand went to clutch his rosary.

"What art thou? Come where I can see thee, foul beast! Thou insult the Lord with thy presence here!" His voice's volume rose slightly with every word, and the grip on his rosary got tighter, however his face became paler.

He heard more muttered cursing and profanities, as well as clanging and shattering sounds. The... the _thing_ was toppling and breaking objects on purpose now.

The poor friar was at loss to decide what he should do. So he simply stood there, without even the support of a column, trembling, listening to the thing moving and breaking objects in its path.

With a sudden burst of bravery, he lifted up his right arm, holding the rosary, and held it outstretched in front of him.

"By the power of the Lord, begone!" he proclaimed with the firmest voice he could muster, but even he doubted this would work.

The sounds of breaking objects stopped, and the friar almost believed he had done it. He made the mistake of relaxing, and exhaling softly. However, this calm lasted barely one moment.

Something suddenly jammed the organ's keys randomly, creating the most loud and discordant accord the friar had ever heard, so unpleasant that it literally sounded like an unearthly howl, the mighty organ pipes groaning and trembling with the sheer force of the air. The sound scared the friar out of his wits, and he fled haphazardly, feeling no shame in doing so, wanting to warn his fellow brethren about the demonic presence haunting their beloved Notre Dame.

The demon grinned in satisfaction as it watched the intruder leave. It lifted its clawed hands from the organ keys, letting the grand instrument rest again.

"_The night is mine, at least leave me be in Goddamn peace._"

Of course, there was a bit of a panic in the first few days and weeks, as they searched wildly for the creature. Friars, deacons, priests, even a bishop and a few exorcists inspected the cathedral. However, the demon was never found. The friar who had experienced that horrible night was almost ridiculed because of his too-vivid imagination. In a matter of months, everyone had already forgotten about the incident.

If one was careful enough however, he would hear the thing as it walked around at night, and sometimes it was even possible to hear it talk to itself. Over the centuries, there were obvious telling signs of its presence: claw marks on damaged pews, broken candelabra, slightly cracked bells or sometimes even multiple upturned pews, which created chaos in the central nave. Sometimes, a keen observer would be able to notice scratches on the organ keys. Most people would think it was the priests' fault of not looking after the cathedral with enough love, but as the centuries passed by, the legend was thought to have been forged to attract more devotees or, even later, tourists.

However, everyone kept his or her personal discovery to him or herself, because no one truly believed in the tale of the Demon of Notre Dame.

* * *

**1799**

A man walked through the central nave of his beloved cathedral, holding up an oil lamp. The night was peaceful, starry and silent, albeit a bit cold, being in December, reason why the priest was wearing a long warm scarf.

He was looking for damages in the church. Mainly because of one reason: ever since the X century, almost all the kings of France had been buried here. A frown formed itself on the priest's features, as he remembered the Revolution of ten years earlier. In 1789, the revolutionaries had stormed inside the cathedral and desecrated the royal tombs, throwing all remains into a barbaric mass grave, and only because of sheer luck the funerary monuments had been preserved. The priest shook his head. Even poor, weak-willed Louis XVI had been decapitated in 1793, and his body had not been allowed to stay in the cathedral of Saint Denis. Who knew where his body laid now.

But he was digressing. He wanted to check if any of the remaining, non-removable memorials of the kings had been damaged, something that often happened ever since the Revolution. Some fools would throw vegetables at the too highly-positioned statues or at the gravestones with the kings' names, others would attempt to scratch away some letters, others would simply dirty them by smearing them with unspeakable things.

The priest sighed, heading for the place where once the royals had rested peacefully. Once there, he brought up the lamp, lighting the area a bit, and suddenly he caught himself smiling.

Half of the gravestones were still dirty and grimy with dried-up filth, but the other half had been scrubbed and cleaned. This was even more evident in a particular tombstone, which was barely half wiped of the filth. Obviously, someone had been here and had been trying to clean up, but had been interrupted by his arrival.

He smiled to himself again and closed his eyes. When he reopened them they fell on something that the unknown cleaner had probably left in his hurry to disappear: a dirty piece of cloth, which had undoubtedly been used to clean half a minute earlier, and a ruffled feather. The priest knelt down and picked up the dirty cloth as well as the feather, inspecting the latter in the light of the lamp. It was pure white, a bit ruffled but still beautiful. Still smiling fondly, he stood up again and put it in an inner pocket, mentally thanking the angel that had been watching over his cathedral for quite some time... ever since he had been assigned in this cathedral, actually, and that had been even before the Revolution. And he assumed that he had probably been here even long before that.

"I apologize for interrupting you." He murmured, knowing well that the other would be able to hear his voice perfectly. He turned towards an unlit candelabrum and neatly hung the dirty cloth there, ready to be used again. "I shan't disturb you any further... thank you."

He then left, a feeling of peace and warmth in his heart. As soon as he was almost outside the cathedral, heading for the abbey, he could have sworn he had heard a smiling answer.

"_You're welcome._"

* * *

**Present day**

A man sat alone in a private compartment in a train, his half-lidded eyes gazing over the horizon. It was late, the sun had almost set, so everything had a tint of orange, contrasting with the long, black shadows.

He was tired, he had not slept well that night for unknown reasons, and the lack of sleep was taking its toll on him already. He rubbed his eyes, sighing. The train would probably arrive at its last destination at night time. Why did he even choose a train that would be so late? Why even a train in the first place? It took forever from Madrid to go to freaking Paris, why on earth didn't he choose for a plane? He blinked slowly. Oh, that's right, the ticket would cost less. He wasn't exactly swimming in money.

He shifted in a slightly more comfortable position, or at least as comfortable a train seat could get, leaned his head onto the glass of the window and readied himself to get a nice nap. The last thought he had was an address, specifically the one where one of his best friends worked, right in the heart of the French capital. It had been years, he couldn't wait to see him again.

* * *

"Gilbert, for the last time, please stand up, and go pack your things." A man groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why should I? I have plenty of time to pack tomorrow morning!" Another man replied, sprawled on a couch with a brown bottle of beer in his hand.

The first man, a tall blond, glanced at his watch. "It's twenty past midnight, and our flight is pretty early tomorrow. You will _not_ be able to make it tomorrow morning!" the man on the couch had opened his mouth to reply something, but the blond stopped him dead on his tracks. "And _don't_ say you're awesome enough to do it. You aren't. I already know what will happen:" the blond started enumerating, "You will drink until two in the morning, pass out on your bed, I will have to wake you up multiple times before you actually _get_ up, you will panic because it's so late and start throwing random things into your suitcase and by then we will already be too late for our plane."

The blond crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at his older brother, who stared back at him, but then decided to give up. With an exasperated sigh, he threw his arms in the air, almost forgetting he had a beer in his hand. "Alright Lutz, you win!" and with that, he stood up, heading for his room.

'Lutz' sighed in relief, feeling glad he had convinced his brother to do something logical for once. The blond often wondered how he, the younger, had turned out to be the one looking out for his older brother.

He sat down at the table and looked over his holiday preparations, which he had made mostly for himself, because Gilbert would probably hang out independently with his friend there. He wasn't remotely planning on just loiter around the city with no clue of where to go: he had listed a clear order of what places he wanted to visit, where and when it would be possible to do so, and had drawn numerous dots on a map with a pencil.

He heard his brother rummage through the incredible amounts of junk he possessed, sometimes muttering to himself. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, as his eyes wandered up and down the map of Paris.

* * *

**That's all, folks!**

**Sorry for the lame introduction of our main characters, I hope you liked it anyway ^^**

**I'm so happy to see so many people enthusiastic for this story! Old and new fans, I'm getting excited! **

**I'm trying to absorb and learn as much as I can of Paris, and especially of our dear cathedrals. I will not put any note this time, but expect a lot of them in the future. If any French readers see that I f*cked up (I know I will and I know you're there people, I can see you c:) please let me know. Also, I tried my darndnest to make the friar&priest speak a bit of an old-fashioned English (maybe I exaggerated, I don't know! And yes I know they're supposed to be talking old French) I hope I did good with that.**

**In any case! I wish you the best for these remains of summer. See you next chapter!**


	3. Antonio,you should know better than this

**Ciao everybody!**

**I'm so happy to see that so many people are excited for this story!**

**So, it took me... *le gasp* 20 days to write this. Well, I warned you that the first few chapters would not be regular! In any case, I now have moved and live in the Netherlands, I have barely survived a crazy week of partying and knowing tons of new people, plus soon my university will start. You could say I have my hands full, but I still love writing this so here is the chapter :') **

**Let me tell you that because of all the research I'm doing for this(French language, Paris in Google street view, famous Restaurants or Café's, Train stations and of course the cathedrals), I almost know the centre of Paris better than the new city I live in. But that's just me. I hope you appreciate all the time/research I put into this!**

**(As always, I suggest you look at the title. Done? Alright, move on!)**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY!**

* * *

At the third busiest train station of France, Paris-Gare de Lyon, the umpteenth train came to a hissing halt in the night. The passengers left quickly, heading for either the subway, the buses or taxis right outside the massive building, not too far from the Seine.

A tired Spaniard plodded out of the coach, carrying his small trolley with him. He headed for the exit, his mind only picturing a comfortable bed in the Bed & Breakfast he had searched for on the Internet a couple of days earlier. He yawned, a small tear in the corner of his eyes as he closed them. He'd go to Francis the next morning, he didn't want to disturb him at this hour...

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, startling him. He whipped his head around to look at the hand's owner, and was surprised to see his friend standing there.

"_Bonsoir, Antoine! _You didn't really think I wouldn't come and fetch you at the station as soon as you arrived, did you?" Francis smiled at him, chuckling.

Antonio blinked, still surprised at the Parisian's unexpected appearance. "Francis? I thought..."

"...That I'd be already sleeping? Well, I usually would be asleep right now, but I'm making an exception for you. " He winked, his hand leaving his shoulder. "So how are you, how have you been?"

The Spaniard shrugged. "A bit tired, but okay," he weakly smiled. How a stupid thing such as travelling while sitting was able to wear a person out would forever be a mystery for him.

Francis rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. "Of course, you're probably dead-tired! How silly of me, I'll take you home immediately so you can rest." He said, taking the Spaniard's trolley. "Follow me please," He waved at him, signalling him to follow.

Antonio thanked him tiredly, and in no time they were in Francis's car. The Parisian's home was right above his successful restaurant Macéo, and it wasn't too far away, but Antonio was glad his friend had come with a vehicle. He didn't even want to _think_ about walking with his trolley right now. In the car, the lights of the Parisian night looked beautiful.

"Hey, _Antoine,_" Francis broke the silence at a red light.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're here, after all this time. Oh, and..." He said with a smile, and as the car started driving again, after they turned a corner Antonio's eyes met the sight of the illuminated Palais-Royal. "... Welcome to Paris."

* * *

The next morning, Antonio felt like a living being again, especially after the breakfast he had with Francis. They caught up with each other's lives, each telling their own adventures and misfortunes. Antonio especially couldn't help but laugh at his friend's 'love' stories, which always ended wrong.

"...And after that, she slapped me and left." Francis sighed dramatically. "Love isn't fair, I can tell you that."

"Then why do you keep behaving like this!?" The Spaniard laughed, croissant crumbles framing his mouth.

"Because I love it! Life without love is not worth living!" Francis nodded seriously, but with a small smirk.

Antonio shook his head. Francis always did overuse the word 'love' a lot. "Oh shut up you, you're just an incurable womanizer. Seeing what reputation you have here, I'm surprised women keep falling for you."

"Not only women, you know." Francis added with a sly smirk.

"What! Oh dear, I don't know if I want to know, but tell me..."

After breakfast, Francis told him he had to get to work. He was the owner, but sometimes also manager, interior designer, cook and sommelier of his restaurant, he could basically choose when he wanted to do what. And he even found the time to flirt with women. In any case, he could basically do what he wanted, but apparently there were going to be special guests that day, so he had to be present to oversee everything. "I'm very sorry, but today I really can't be missing..." He said, eyes downcast a bit as he donned his uniform.  
"No problem, I can walk on my own, _mommy_." Antonio snorted, sticking out his tongue.

Francis elbowed him. "Shut up, you know you possess the brain of a child! I'm almost your big brother anyway, so I get worried because you're so much of an airhead!"

"Pfft. Anyway, I kind of already know what I want to visit today, so don't worry _amigo_. I'll be sure to come back this evening, alright?" The Spaniard said, swinging his small backpack, containing the few things he would need that day, on his shoulders.

"Those VIP guests should be gone by eight, so yes. _D'accord!_ Let's have dinner here, it's on the house." Francis nodded, giving him the keys of his home. "See you then, oh and Toni..." he raised his eyebrows at the Spaniard. "...don't get lost."

Antonio groaned and rolled his eyes at the hint. "Oh come on, this story again?! It only happened once!"  
"That is a lie and you know it!"  
"Alright I'm leaving already!"

* * *

The Spaniard spent the whole day sightseeing in Paris. It was a must, for instance, to go see the Eiffel Tower, symbol of France. After that, he had initially planned to go to a museum, but decided he would dedicate the whole day to it; otherwise it would not be worth it, he figured. He instead decided to go visiting various churches, from Sainte-Chapelle to Saint-Denis, from Basilique Sacré-Coeur to L'Église Saint-Germain-des-Prés. He was both satisfied and exhausted by the end f the day, but as he returned to Francis's restaurant, its cuisine revived him, and they both ate and drank until they were singing in the middle of the restaurant. It was kind of awkward that the owner himself was drunk in his own restaurant, but one of Francis's right-hand men helped them both upstairs to the Frenchman's home. Francis resisted in the beginning, but finally complied when the man assured him he would do his best to run the restaurant in his place for that evening.

When they were in the apartment, Francis wobbled to the nearest couch and fell face-first on it, grinning like a fool. "Aaah, that's just... what I needed. This ship just keeps... rolling. Are we in a storm?"

Antonio giggled, barely managing to keep his own balance by leaning on the edge of a table, his face red because of the alcohol. He was holding the half-empty bottle of fine red French wine he had taken from their table minutes earlier. "You idiot, we're not on a boat."

"_Attends un peu…! Nous ne somme pas…?_" Francis's head shot up, cheeks red because of the alcohol as well. His slightly unfocused eyes darted around, recognizing his surroundings, and then his head fell down in the couch's cushion again. "Heheheh, you're right. It's not."

The Spaniard's hand left the table's surface as he tried to stand on his own. "Ha, it's almost like old times. We'd only need Gil here to complete the picture."

"The picture of what? Him dancing around the streets... or him being passed out on the floor...?" Francis chuckled, looking moments away from sleep.

Antonio chuckled as well, remembering his albino friend. He took in a deep breath, but found no satisfaction in it; suddenly the air inside Francis's house was too stale for him. He needed fresh air from outside, and maybe the cool evening air would help him regain his balance. "Oi Franny."

A groan was the answer.

The Spaniard started heading for the door, feeling the weight of Francis's keys in his pocket. He pondered on leaving the bottle, but then decided against it. "I think I need some fresh air."

"Then open a window, _ballot_."

"Mmm no, I think... I need to walk a while too."  
"Then walk out of the window, _non?_"

Antonio snorted, sloppily opening the door. "Just sleep, _tonto_. I'll be right back..."

A snore was the answer. Antonio chuckled and then left, closing the door as delicately as he could.

* * *

He had initially planned only to stand outside the restaurant – which was still busy serving a couple of late clients their desserts and coffees – for a while, maybe take a few steps back and forth, and then go back. However, he found himself walking down the avenue, first walking along the edge of the Palais-Royal, and then by the Seine's boulevard. Maybe it was the alcohol distorting his vision, but the city in the dead of the night was more beautiful than he had imagined or realized before. Because it _was_ the dead of the night, right? Wait, what time was it exactly? He glanced at his watch, it was somewhere after four in the morning. Heh, it could have been worse.

Walking with the Seine to his right, he saw an island not too far away in the middle of the river. He knew where he was, and he decided that'd be his destination for that night, before going back to Francis's house. He took a swig out of the wine bottle.

He crossed a short stony bridge and turned to his right, wanting to walk around the island and come back to this bridge after that. After walking along the petite island's shore, two square forms towering over the trees caught his attention. He took another swig out of the bottle, heading in that direction. He had a vague idea of what those things were supposed to be but... thinking was starting to get difficult. He scratched his temple.

However, after he stepped in a plaza, he immediately knew what it was. The two towers, the big rose window... Notre Dame.

He slowly wobbled towards the cathedral, and while mid-swig he had the impression of briefly seeing something moving inside one of the towers, but he immediately forgot about that after disappointedly noticing that the bottle was empty. He groaned, unceremoniously dropping it on the stony pavement with a loud clatter. He finally stood in front of the cathedral's entrance. It was... beautiful. The tall towers were majestically sturdy, and the many stained windows had to have something magical, because even in the shadows you could see their colours.

He felt drawn to this place. Why had he not visited this today? How could he have forgotten about it?! He had even been on the island, visiting Sainte-Chapelle! He could not really find an explanation for that, but he was determined to get inside that building now, it did not matter to him that it was the dead of night. He clumsily climbed over the short, waist-high black fence – almost ripping his trousers in the process –, got closer to the big main portal, and pushed one of the two doors.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't open.

Antonio groaned, determination growing stronger because he found his way in blocked. He tried the other five doors, but nothing happened. Out of frustration, he kicked the fence, but immediately regretted it as he hopped around on one foot, hissing out a curse in Spanish. He then threw his hands up in the air and climbed over the fence again, shooting a challenging look at the church, feeling as if it were mocking him. He wasn't giving up yet. There had to be other entrances, right?

His numbed mind sluggishly registered that there now was a shadow missing above one of the portals, but he shrugged, almost losing his balance while doing so.

He went to the side of the large building, staggering a bit to the side or stumbling every once in a while, and he was disappointed to find nothing but tall windows. Halfway through, walking in the grassy field behind the majestic apse of the cathedral, he gave up. He sighed deeply, thinking he'd just have to wait until tomorrow. He turned left around the last corner of Notre Dame and flanked the other side of the church, intending to go to the bridge he had crossed earlier.

That was when he noticed a small red door on the side of the cathedral. Antonio's eyebrows shot up, surprised. So there was still a chance! But no, as soon as he had climbed over the now much taller fence – this time ripping the trousers' fabric by his right knee in the process – he discovered that again, the door was locked.

He groaned in frustration and tiredness, bending down to inspect the damage of his clothes. Luckily enough, it didn't seem too bad, the rip in his favourite trousers was only a few centimetres long. He then straightened up, and went to climbing the fence once more.

However, this time, something behind him moved. The red wooden door creaked.

Antonio turned his head around while halfway up the fence, and heard a whispered curse.

"_Oh, shit-...!_"

The door was perhaps one or two centimetres open, but it was _open_.

He let go of the fence and fell back on his feet, ungracefully so and far from stable.

"What's this...?" he muttered. Was someone inside? This was... definitely weird. Even the priests were not supposed to be inside the cathedral at night, right?

He walked up the four steps that led to the red door, and slowly put his hand on its smooth surface, before opening it and treading inside.

The cold air of the cathedral engulfed him from all sides, but it was not unwelcoming. If possible, it was quite the opposite. The door slowly closed behind him, while he stepped forwards into the nave. In the middle of the night it was quite difficult to see, there was not much light besides the few candles that had been lit by a few devoted people that day, even if some streetlight poured in from a couple of windows.

He glanced at the candles, the few tiny flames spreading a little warmth and comfort. He fumbled in his pockets, avoiding Francis's keys and finding a fifty eurocent coin, before putting it into the offering box. He then lit up a candle himself. He wasn't quite sure why or for whom he was doing this, he had never really felt the need to pray for somebody else, and he had not suffered any loss. He smiled in a dorky way, guessing that that candle was for his lucky star.

"Yup... becaus' I'm lucky..." He mumbled sheepishly, looking around himself. "Who can sssay they were here at night, with no one... else, hmm...?" He was starting to slur. He turned around but almost lost his balance for the umpteenth time. "Whoops." He muttered, thinking that maybe it was time for him to go back. Then again, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, why not explore a little before returning home? That was his alcohol-clouded mind talking, so naturally he followed its thinking, and started wandering in the cathedral.

The drunk man was unaware that a pair of eyes was warily following him from the shadows. It was the shadow's fault that that man had entered in the first place, but it wanted to observe him a little, and then have fun with him.

Antonio clumsily walked around, not really aware anymore of where he was going. He walked up and down the nave, he glanced up at the magnificent organ, his jaw dropping in a very charming way every now and then, before he decided to go up some stairs he found behind a door. He found himself on some kind of balcony-like passageway, right between the two towers. He propped his elbows against the stony balustrade, between two thin and tall columns. A soft breeze tickled his cheeks, and Antonio closed his eyes, inhaling the night air almost in bliss.

"_You shouldn't be here_."

A voice sounded from behind him, and Antonio turned – sluggishly so, and grinning like a fool. "Why hello, of course I shouldn't... be here." He shrugged, totally ignoring the fact that he could not see who had talked. "I mean, it'ss... the middle of the night, nobody ssshould be allowed here..." He hiccupped.

The unknown person did not answer, so Antonio started thinking he might be making things up in his head. After all, he was drunk. He noticed a life-sized statue of a saint nearby, and plodded to it, before swinging his arm around its shoulders. "Heheee, found you. You weird voice, you thought you could... essscape from me, huh? Well... too bad..." He chuckled, poking the statue's ice-cold cheek. He then yawned, opening his mouth widely and stretching his arms, thus losing the grip on the statue's shoulders. He slowly slid down on the ground, the upper half of his body leaning onto the statue's legs, his eyes half lidded. "Oh, I'm all sleepy... that'ss... not good, Francis will kill me..." he yawned again, his vision starting to get blurry.

However, as he closed his eyes, Antonio heard the voice again. It snorted. "_Fucking drunk idiot_."

"...Mmmm, weird, the statue keeps talking..." The Spaniard muttered, making himself a bit more comfortable against the statue's legs.

Another snort.

Antonio lazily opened one eye, in time to see a figure approaching him. He saw barely more than a blurred silhouette, but even in this state, Antonio noticed that something wasn't quite right with it. The figure crouched in front of him, cocking its head to the side. The Spaniard's heavy eyelids closed once more, and the silhouette started talking to itself, while poking Antonio's shoulder.

"So, what should I do with him? Drop him over the balustrade? Nah, it might probably kill him. I could just leave him here. Then again, he's ruining my view... Ah, fucking tourists."

It was definitely a male voice, and Antonio found the willpower to just crack open one eye to see the mysterious man. All he managed to see was short, dark brown hair, before the darkness finally took him.

"God fucking damnit, seriously, what am I to do with this guy?!" the silhouette complained, walking around with his hands in his hair and groaning. "Oh wait. Maybe he can provide some entertainment after all." He said, a sneer appearing on his face, revealing sharp teeth. The silhouette bowed down, and hovered over the passed out man, before lifting his arms and dragging him across the stone floor. The Spaniard's feet disappeared in the shadows in a matter of seconds, and a laugh echoed between Notre Dame's walls.

* * *

_**That's all, folks!**_

_**...**_

_**Paris-Gare de Lyon : **__It's__one of the six large mainline__railway station__termini in Paris. It handles about 90,000,000 passengers every year, making it the third busiest station of France and one of the busiest of__Europe. __The station is served by high-speed trains to south and eastern France, Switzerland, Germany, Italy and __Spain__. [See? I even have to research in which train station Antonio will arrive! Now I just need the airport for the German bros, heh]_

_**Bonsoir, Antoine! :**__ (French) Good evening, Antonio!_

_**Macéo : **__A successful restaurant that really exists and that I decided to be Francis's restaurant. Address: __15 rue des Petits-Champs, 75001. Make a reservation a few days earlier or you won't get in ;)_

_**Palais-Royal : **__O__riginally called the Palais-Cardinal,__it's a palace that faces the Place du Palais-Royal, opposite the Louvre. Today the Palais-Royal houses the Conseil d'__État(=Council of State), the Constitutional Council and the Ministry of Culture._

_**Amigo :**__(Spanish) Friend._

_**D'accord! : **__(French) Alright!_

_**Sainte-Chapelle :**__It's a royal medieval Gothic__chapel, located on the__Île__ de la Cité (the same island on which Notre Dame is)__in the heart of__Paris. Although it was dama__ged during the French revolution, and restored in the 19th century, it retains one of the most extensive in-situ collections of 13th-century stained glass anywhere in the world. [I had initially chosen for this church for Feliciano because it's so beautiful, but then I discovered just how close this church is to Notre Dame. Too close, it would not work for the story, sadly enough.]_

_**Saint-Denis :**__ Feliciano's church. It'__s a large medieval abbey church in the city of Saint-Denis,__now a northern suburb of Paris. The building is of unique importance historically and architecturally, as its choir__completed in 1144 is considered to be the first Gothic__church ever built. Its stile resembles Notre Dame, especially from the front, however one of the two towers is missing: In 1837, lightning struck the spire of the north tower and damaged it severely; Three years later, the north tower was once again damaged by a storm. The spire was then disassembled by the architect, as well as the upper part of the tower, and the original stones were stored at the rear of the basilica. On March 1, 2013, the mayor announced the future reconstruction of the north tower.__The work is expected to begin in 2015._

_**Basilique Sacré-C**__**œur : **__is a Roman Catholic __church and minor basilica, dedicated to the Sacred Heart __of Jesus, in Paris.__A popular landmark, the basilica is located at the summit of the hill __Montmartre__, the highest point in the city. It was consacrated at the end of the Great War, in 1919._

_**L'**__**É**__**glise Saint-Germain-des-Prés : **__The __Benedectine abbey,__just beyond the outskirts of early medieval __Paris, was the burial place of Merovingian kings of__Neustria. __The Abbey was founded in the 6th century, and under royal patronage the Abbey became one of the richest in France; it remained a centre of intellectual life in the French Catholic church until it was disbanded during the French Revolution. An explosion levelled the Abbey and its cloisters, the statues in the portal were removed and some destroyed, and a fire in 1794 destroyed the library. The abbey church remains as the Église de Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris._

_**Attends un peu…! Nous ne somme pas…? :**__ (French) Wait a minute...! We're not...?_

_**Ballot :**__ (French) Idiot._

_**Tonto :**__ (Spanish) Idiot._

...

**_So that's it! For now. Mwahahah. Any ideas about what Romano is up to? *insert evil laughter here please*_**

**_I hope you liked it! And if someone is wondering why there were no policemen around the Notre Dame while Antonio was drunk, the reason is that that day they were on strike. Because it's France. _**

**_(Also, I think I might need some help with Spanish, becaues I'm pretty sure I will butcher it. If you want to help, send me a PM or review, thank you very much!)_**

**_Anyway, I wish you all a fantastic day, and until next chapter :)_**


	4. Long Time No See

**Ciao everybody!**

**It's been... more than a month. *Hides behind toppled table* I am so sorry for the delay, but after one month of randomness I finally got used to my new life's routines (moving to another country and start university is a harsh change, people!), I should be able to build up time for writing this story!**

**So without further ado, here's the new chapter, I hope you'll like it.**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

In an early spring morning, a plane landed in the Charles de Gaulle Airport, situated in the north-eastern area of Paris. Soon after that, two German brothers took a taxi towards the centre of the city.

"You know what the only problem of this holiday is?" The albino sighed, looking outside at the top of the Eiffel Tower, which rose over the buildings and trees in the distance.

"What, Gil." The other responded, knowing that the elder brother would say something stupid.

"Well, Paris is... you know, the city of _looove_." Gilbert exaggeratedly stressed the last word, before coming closer to the younger sibling with a fluid motion and with exaggerated winking.

The blond brother squirmed and let out a groan of disgust. "God, _Gilbert!_"

As if he had not heard him and as if nothing had happened, Gilbert sat upright again and pouted while staring at the window. "...And of course I'm stuck here with you and not with somebody else. A _female_ somebody else."

The blond sighed and combed back a few strands of hair that had come loose from the gel's iron grip. Knowing he was about to set fire to a powder keg, he smirked. "Like whom, Elizaveta?"

A flash of horror could be seen in the albino's milky red eyes. "Oh hell no! Not Elizaveta!"

"Why not? It seems she's the only woman who can tolerate your presence." The blond sneered, knowing very well what kind of virago he was speaking of.

"She can beat me up any time, how do you think I'd survive two _days_ with her on vacation?! Like I said, hell no, anybody, any woman but Elizaveta." Gilbert roughly shook his head, his cheeks and ears all red from embarrassment. "Seriously Ludwig, I sometimes wonder if you're just nothing but a mad sadist."

"Maybe. But I'm also not _afraid_ of Elizaveta..." Ludwig teased, raising one eyebrow.

"I am _not_ afraid of her! And... you haven't seen her when she's angry, or when she's on her period! You would understand and support me if you had."

The blond frowned. "Well now you're just being rude."

"L-let's... stop talking about Elizaveta ok?! I just... want to enjoy my holiday with my buddy Francis. Because don't think I'll be walking through dusty museums or churches. Feel free to join us in the evenings however, eh?" Gilbert smirked.

Ludwig exhaled, looking outside. He had only one goal in mind, and that did not include carrying a drunken brother up the stairs to this friend's place. "I'll consider it."

The taxi left them not too far away from Gilbert's friend's restaurant, but the siblings decided that they first should have breakfast, and also that they did not want to disturb anyone yet since it was still pretty early in the morning. "They decided" equals "Ludwig's common sense had decided"; had it been for Gilbert, he would have hired a marching band as to wake his poor friend up in a jiffy.

They ordered coffee and croissants, and as they ate them, they watched the news. Of course, it was in French, but the duo could understand a bit of what they were talking about. For example, it seemed some idiot had been found almost naked in the Notre Dame that morning. The face of the man was never shown – not only for censorship and respect of privacy, but also because the cameramen were quite far away from said man – while he was being rescued by some fire-fighters. Apparently, he had been tied up with several ropes and sheets, which had been secured to the high domes above him and the nearby columns, in the middle of the central nave of Notre Dame, so that he would be dangerously dangling several metres off the ground. The irony was, the man was almost naked, but a lot of other clothes had been secured to his bindings: mainly underwear, socks and bras. Easy to predict, the priests were outraged.

Gilbert chuckled at the idiocy of the man. "How dumb can you be?! Seriously! I kinda wonder how he got there, but... ah, who cares? He was probably drunk and with other drunk people. Kesese!" He suddenly stopped laughing, and he looked stunned, as if he had somehow realized something. "Oh my God, Lutz, what if it's some kind of clue to an ancient puzzle?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "This is not a Dan Brown book, Gil. This is reality."

"But _what if-_...!?"

"No."

And with that, the argument of the weirdo of Notre Dame was closed.

At least, that's what they thought.

As soon as they thought it was a decent hour to knock on somebody's door, they went to Francis's house, which was right on top of his restaurant which was surprisingly already running and full of clients: Macéo. They rung the doorbell, but no one answered.

"Perhaps it's still too early?" Ludwig wondered, glancing at his watch. Almost nine in the morning. Shouldn't he be awake by now?

"Nah, he probably has a hangover." Gilbert shrugged, heavily pressing his index onto the doorbell and leaving it there.

After one minute of the long-ringing torture, an annoyed voice sounded from the speaker.

"..._Putain...!_" A groan, and then: "_Qui est là?!_"

Gilbert chuckled, smugly crossing his arms. "Now that isn't very nice, Franny."

There was a pause at the other end. "_Attends un peu... Gil?!_"

"In the flesh!" The albino exclaimed.

"_Er... Oh, right! Come inside!_" Francis sounded tired, even through the speaker.

The door opened with a buzz, and the two Germans entered with their small luggage.

At the top of the stairs, Francis had already opened the door and welcomed them with a tired but genuine smile. He was wearing what seemed to be long checkered pyjama trousers. "Gilbert, _mon ami!_ I'm so glad you came. And you brought your little brother, too!" He hugged the albino, and shook the blond's hand. 'Little brother' was something that one would not normally apply to Ludwig, since he was much taller, broader and more responsible than the albino.

Ludwig nodded politely, introducing himself. He and Francis had never met personally, but they both knew each other through Gilbert's stories.

Francis led them inside. "You can leave your bags here, I'll start making breakfast."

Ludwig stopped him. "No, thank you, you don't have to worry about that, we already had breakfast."

"Oh?" The Frenchman seemed surprised, but then smiled again. "No worries, I'll make it for myself then. Are you absolutely sure?"

Both Germans nodded, and sat by the kitchen table as too keep Francis company.

"You look tired, Francypants. Did you have another long night with a woman?" Gilbert suggestively raised his eyebrows, grinning.

"Not really, not tonight, I'm afraid." Francis chuckled. "I had to deal with a nuisance early this morning..."

A noise of something falling and a yelp came from the bathroom, not too far away.

Gilbert blinked. "You have another guest? ...Wait a second, you _lied!_ You _do_ have a woman here!" he jokingly accused his friend, dramatically so.

Now it was Francis's time to chuckle, without looking up from the eggs in the pan. "I don't think so."

The bathroom's door opened, and a figure stumbled out, clumsily covered by a big towel. "Francis, who's there, I heard voices-" The man stopped dead on his tracks, jaw falling open as he recognized the new guests. "Gil?!" He turned to look at the blond, making the mental connection. "Ludwig?!" And then, the back of the Frenchman. "Francis, what is this?!"

The albino stood up, equally stunned. "What the... Antonio?!"

Ludwig was also surprised to see the third member of his brother's trio, but also noticed that the Frenchman hadn't stopped smiling the entire time.

Gilbert quickly closed the distance between him and the Spaniard, and hugged him tightly. "_Mein Gott, _it's really you Toni!" He turned his head to face the Frenchman with a fake admonishing look, "Francis, you sneaky bastard, not telling me he was coming as well..."

"Yeah, me too! I didn't know you were coming, Gil!" Antonio complained, obviously as surprised as the albino.

Gilbert turned to the Spaniard again. "Where have you been, it's been ages!"

Antonio was widely smiling, but then he suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Where have I been? Like, in the past few hours, or...?"

"You're such an idiot Toni. I meant-" Gil started, releasing the hug and holding his friend by the shoulders at arm-length distance, before noticing something. "Uh, I think you missed a spot when you showered." He snickered, raising an eyebrow and pointing at Antonio's jaw. There, right where the jaw connects with the neck, there was a black smudge, as if someone had scribbled something with a marker.

His hand immediately went to cover the spot. "Oh, really?" He laughed nervously.

Ludwig had already noticed since the start, but it was finally Gilbert's turn to read the mood and understand that something was wrong. "Antonio, is everything alright?"

"Of course it is, why wouldn't it be?" The Spaniard backed off even more awkwardly.

Francis finally turned, sighing, a dirty palette in his right hand. "I think you can tell them, _Antoine_. You already trust Gil, and knowing his reputation, I'm ready to bet that Ludwig is trustworthy as well. They'll laugh..." and Francis shot a glance at the albino "..but in the end it will be less awkward. In a couple of days you'll be able to laugh for it too." He smiled encouragingly.

The Spaniard rearranged the towel clumsily around himself, feeling the gaze of everyone in the room upon him. "Er..." He then sighed, knowing it wouldn't make sense to drag this out. He straightened up, and took a deep breath. "Well... I don't suppose you saw the French news today...?"

Ludwig and Gilbert glanced at each other. "Actually, we did." Ludwig confirmed.

"Yea, there was also this weird story about a guy in the Notre Dame..." Gilbert grinned, and then noticed Antonio's face. He had a weird expression, with raised eyebrows and one mouth corner slightly pulled up, as if he were saying: 'Yup, you got me'.

Gilbert spluttered. "N-no way..." He barely managed to contain himself, but then exploded in a fit of laughter, his typical bizarre hissing laugh. "KESESESESE! _You?!_ You were that guy?! KESESE!"

Antonio raised his shoulders, admitting defeat. "Yes... it was me." He mumbled.

"Ohmygod" Gilbert breathed, gasping for air, "L-lutz! Did you hear that?" He continued laughing.

"We're in the same room, of course I heard that." Ludwig replied. He was slightly surprised by the revelation, he had to admit, but his brother was exaggerating things. Like always.

"Haaaaa...Please, please tell me what happened." The albino said, heavily plopping down on the chair by the table, as soon as he had returned a bit serious and had started breathing again.

"We had dinner last night," Francis started as he sat down with his breakfast, "and you could say that things got out of hand. With the wine I mean. I barely remember walking to the couch over there, and that's all I can say for what happened yesterday evening. This distinct gentleman however..." He shot an ironic glance towards the Spaniard, who understood the hint and continued the story.

"Well, my memory is a lot fuzzy as well, I have to admit I had drunk more than usual... I do remember a few things though, for example that I needed to get some fresh air; that's how I ended outside. How I ended up in Notre Dame however... I have no idea." He shrugged. "I didn't break anything, the only acceptable explanation would be that somebody let me in." Antonio said, scratching his head while trying to recover the drunken memories.

"Somebody let you in Notre Dame in the middle of the night. Yeah right." Gilbert chuckled. Ludwig had to admit that the Spaniard's story sounded ludicrous to say the least: not even the priests were allowed inside the cathedral at night.

"Somebody must have forgotten to lock a door, that sounds reasonable enough." Ludwig muttered.

Antonio shook his head. "No no, there was definitely someone. I remember that there was someone... and how would I have ended up tied like that if there hadn't been someone else?!" He finally sat down, arms crossed over his chest. "Seriously you wouldn't think a drunk man would be able to do that all alone. And for what?"

"He does have a point." Ludwig commented. Judging from the footage he had seen that morning, the Spaniard had been tied several metres off the ground.

"And my face!" Antonio pointed a finger to the dark remaining smudge on his neck. "The one who tied me up also scribbled all over me with a permanent marker... Wrote some pretty nasty things too... One of the priests that came in the cathedral in the morning fainted when he saw me."

"Sounds like the usual drill during a drunk night, huh Franny?" Gilbert commented, and the Frenchman smiled briefly before becoming serious again.

"Gil, you don't seem to realize that Antonio has been tied up in a very dangerous position. What if the ropes hadn't held him?" he said.

The albino shook his head. "I think you're all taking this too seriously and personal. I think that what happened was a way to attract news attention or something. Or simply a public prank on a hapless drunk who just happened to stumble by." He raised his hands. "Just shrug it off and laugh, Antonio was not hurt and all that happened was a small commotion and a fainted priest. No biggie!"

Francis cleaned his mouth with a napkin after he was done eating. "Maybe you're right..."

Antonio leaned back in his chair, pouting. "I'm still not convinced. I'm going back and start looking for that guy."

"I think that your chances of finding him are rather slim..." Francis tried to comfort him by promising they'd all have dinner together that evening, and with a laugh he said that this time they'd watch out more for the wine.

* * *

The afternoon went by quickly for the reunited trio of friends, as they spent it on talking and walking around Paris.

Ludwig on the other hand had a definite schedule in mind, and he had no intention of breaking it. He left his brother with the other two, and left to roam Paris on his own. He had a list of things to see – one of them was Notre Dame, actually – but there was one name, at the bottom of his list for that day, that burned in his mind.

Saint Denis.

A seemingly less important church, ever since he had returned to Paris after all these years, he could not deny that he couldn't wait for his feet to bring him there. It was a bit to the north compared to the heart of the city, but he did not mind at all.

And suddenly, as he was lost in his own thoughts, there it was. It stood majestically in front of him, its symmetry lopsided because of the missing tower, but nonetheless magnificent.

Tourists and visitors were still allowed inside, so he did not have problems getting in. The tall stained windows of the upper story let in the brightly coloured light of the sun slowly going down towards the horizon. It was only spring after all, the sun still set pretty early. A soft discordant symphony of murmurs and shuffled steps filled the air, as not to disturb the holy place.

Ludwig felt a shiver travel up his spine as soon as he set foot on the floor of the central nave. This place was exactly like he had remembered it to be, it had not changed at all. It was strange to think, that he had changed so much while this place had stayed the same for centuries.

He glanced at his watch. It was five after six in the afternoon, the cathedral would close in ten minutes. He had plenty of time to look and to do what he needed to do, and the sun wouldn't set in at least two hours. Good thing he had brought a book with him as well, he thought.

He expertly navigated through the thinning crowd, finding himself into a lateral nave in moments. From there he walked up towards the apse, where he knew there was a certain door – technically it led to the bathrooms, but also to a part reserved only for the personnel of the church. But he did not have any intention to go to either of those places. In fact, as soon as he opened the door, he turned to his right and faced another one. Ugly and small, it was not supposed to be seen, that was why it had been positioned behind the other, bigger and more polished door.

Ludwig exhaled, raising his eyebrows. He did not quite remember it like this.

He swiftly looked to the left, and then grabbed the doorknob. The door protested at first, the hinges old and stubborn, but after one firm push they relented. He quickly stepped into the dark, dusty room and closed the door behind him. One hand went up the door's frame and felt around a bit, before finding the treacherous extra lock. His lips curled upwards briefly because of the irony: more than ten years earlier it had been new and loose enough to move and close practically on its own with a jolt, now it was so old that it needed a good portion of his strength to be closed. With a rusty squeak, the lock was moved, and sealed the door from the outside world. Now nobody would be able to disturb him.

He used his telephone to scan his surroundings, and discovered that almost nothing had changed. The place was as dusty as he remembered. Perhaps smaller, but that was because he had grown bigger and taller: his head almost touched the ceiling of this old broom closet, which contained almost everything else _but_ a broom. Paint buckets, mops, dust sheets, various other old and forgotten items all stacked in here like in an old, way too small cellar. There was barely any space for him to stand.

He inhaled sharply as the delicate light blue light of his telephone revealed a familiar shelf to his right. He could almost see his younger self shivering beside it.

The telephone's light dimmed and then died, the shelf disappearing in the shadows. He shook his head. He had gotten out of here, had he not? Thanks to the exact same reason for his return to this place.

He took a paint bucket and sat on it, his shoulders resting against a big pile of unidentified junk.

He was finally here. Now he just needed to wait. Thank god he had a book and a flashlight with him.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, there was a very bored German in a forgotten broom closet in the church of Saint Denis. He had finished the book already, but knew it was too early to come out. He waited another half hour.

After that, he was quite sure there would not be a single soul left in the church except for him. He stood up, his hand searching for the darn lock, and then opened the door.

The corridor that led to the bathrooms and the personnel area was gloomy and dark, except for a few, very small yellow lights every now and then positioned on the floor.

Ludwig took a deep breath, readying himself psychologically, before turning left and going back into the main body of the church.

It was silent and solemn, without the whispers of the tourists. He remembered that when he had been lost, he had found it way too creepy and scary. But now, it was kind of reassuring, he didn't even feel the need to use the flashlight.

He slowly, silently walked towards the entrance, aiming for the stairs that would bring him to the tower. With every step he felt more and more conflicted.

Was he really sure he wanted to do this? What if it turned out he had hallucinated back then? What if he was just clinging to a way too vivid product of his imagination when he had been little? What he was doing couldn't exactly be considered legal, either...

He shook his head. He was already here, he couldn't turn back now. Even if it had been a dream... he had to check. Worst case scenario: he'd be disappointed and join his brother and his friends for the rest of the holiday.

He soon was on top of the stairs, the dim nightlight entering from the way too tall windows, outlining the silhouettes of bells.

If he remembered correctly, _he_ was supposed to be here.

He silently moved around the square space, looking behind any blind spots. But he was done pretty quickly with that reconnaissance. He sighed, disappointment sinking slowly into him.

The treacherous dusty place made him sneeze.

He smothered the sneeze as best as he could in his hand, but to him it still sounded like a bomb. Surely the neighbours must have heard it.

"_Bless y-!_"

A voice replied with a barely audible whisper, but then quickly shut itself.

Ludwig's eyes widened, and he briefly wondered who had been more stupid: he by not looking up above his head or _him_ by being so polite as to respond to sneezes while hiding.

Slowly, the blond lifted his head, and saw him, barely, hiding up in the dark, between the wooden beams of the tower.

"_Uh... hello..._" _He _said, knowing that he had been caught but still hiding.

Ludwig smiled. "Hello, Feliciano."

* * *

**That's all, folks!**

**Shitty cliffhanger is shitty, and I love torturing you. But you already know that.**

**Any ideas about what happened to Ludwig, and how he already knows Feliciano? (It's pretty obvious I think, but I still want to check, haha!)**

**Also, Antonio is not yet done with the Notre Dame, oh no *insert evil laugh here***

**See you guys next time! I'll do my best to make it only a 2-week long wait, and the chapter will be uploaded on Sunday, alright?**

**Have a fantastic day everybody!**

**...**

_**Charles de Gaulle Airport : **__**also known as **__**Roissy Airport**__**(or just **__**Roissy**__**in French), is one of the world's principal aviation centres, as well as France's largest airport. It is named after Charles de Gaulle**__**(1890–1970).**_

_**Putain...! : (French) Shit...!**_

_**Qui est là?! : (French) Who is it?!**_

_**Attends un peu... Gil?! : (French) Wait a second... Gil?!**_

_**[A million thanks to reviewer Xou who corrected my French, because of course I screwed up ;) merci!]**_


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